


Covet

by lamefryes



Category: Uncharted (Video Games), Uncharted 4 - Fandom
Genre: A Kitchen Island - Freeform, Conflict, Fanfiction, Fluff, M/M, Nondescriptive frickle frack haha whoops, Profanity, Rafe Adler - Freeform, Rafe x Sam, Romance, Sam Drake - Freeform, Short Stories, male x male, safe, sam x rafe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamefryes/pseuds/lamefryes
Summary: That night was the last night Sam spent with Rafe.Featuring Sam's iffy relationship with his best friend, which happens to be a table, and Rafe's weird liquor spidey senses.





	Covet

        He rubs his weary eyes, taking a deep breath and resting his head in his hands. This work, it was exhausting. Not just the work. The entire situation.

        Sam, he just wanted to see how he was doing. His little brother. He already stalked him as much as possible online, and though it sounds creepy, who wouldn't? The circumstances made it okay in his head. It took everything he had to not tell Nate about everything, the whole situation. But Nate was out of the business now, happy, normal. Maybe he'd been brainwashed, but whatever. It still...it just didn't feel right.

        In fact, Sam had a whole plethora of issues besides hiding his existence from his brother- for fifteen damn years. Sam had had very little freedom around Rafe. Sam wanted to uncover this mystery just as much as Rafe did...just not with him. He might not have minded it had Nate been there, but Rafe had much needed funds which the Drake brothers did not possess, and a higher status too, which meant Rafe got away with a lot more shit than some random brothers sneaking around did. So, this was the best option now, considering Rafe refused to bring Nate back into the operation. 'I'd rather bury you both in a shallow grave, Sam.' But Sam would fix this, get Rafe out of the picture when his usefulness had run it's course, somehow. Though, Rafe probably thought the same thing.

        Despite the tension of knowing both men weren't exactly 'trustworthy', in the traditional sense, Rafe treated Sam very well. He may have kept tabs on him, watched what he did and where he went and made him work a lot more than he thought was necessary, he still had his own bed. He had food whenever needed, showers, you name it. He was fucking rich- it wasn't an issue for Sam to spend a little money here and there. And Sam found that Rafe did trust him a lot more over time, and actually began to seek out his company. It was nice to have a 'friend' around, even if they weren't what you'd actually call friends. They didn't speak much, and though it came off as more of a roomie-slash-business-partner situation, it wasn't exactly so. 

        The only major thing that bothered Sam about Rafe was how stupidly mercurial the man was, and how much it affected the relationship between the two. One look, and anyone around the pair for any amount of time knew that it was a fragile and fickle thing, thanks to Rafe. It may have been bitter-sweet, love-hate, or even a tad...territorial, at points. 'Tad' meaning incredibly and at almost all times. After prison, years upon years of being in a damn cell, Sam readily admitted he was ready total man whore. And yet, Rafe wouldn't let him bring anyone home, which may have caused some trouble. 

        Deep breaths, Sam.

        Or cigarettes, or whiskey. Either would do fine, and Sam is leaning to all three at the moment. He closes the laptop gingerly, wincing at the clock. Three in the morning, huh? Sam scratches at his hair. Rafe is probably asleep, and lord knows you did not like to wake that man up. But Sam's been here long enough to navigate the place with only the soft moonlight illuminating it. It was rather beautiful, though, once Sam got over the mild distaste that came along with how Rafe just had nice...well, everything. It wasn't fair, sure, but like every mom in the history of life has said: Life itself isn't fair. Dim, almost blueish light bathing furniture, barely reflecting off of the polished wooden floor, shadows pooling in the corners. It was the picture of quiet, peaceful, and...

        The corner of the kitchen's island jabs into Sam's hip, and he curses under his breath. Apparently, that's the kind of thing that happens when you pay too much attention to a strange aesthetic. Wincing, Sam gives it a wide berth before walking over to the cabinet he desires. He's not entirely sure who visited it more often, him or Rafe, but it was both a common comfort the two men desired after a long day, or what kept them a little more relaxed after delving too deep into their work some nights. Three or four in the morning deep, like tonight.

        Instead of bothering with a glass, Sam opts to drink straight from the bottle he grabs from aforementioned cabinet, which was probably just as expensive as everything else here. Maybe Rafe was ashamed and secretly hides cheap, shitty beer somewhere in an equally hidden basement. Sam pads warily to the center island, cold glass clutched to his chest. "I hope we're still friends," he mutters to it, hoping that it feels sorry for it's earlier behavior, despite it being an inanimate object. Assured that it has a sense of empathy somewhere deep in it's cold, granite exterior, Sam accepts the silent apology it offers, and hops up onto it's top. Snapping open the lid to the bottle -it has a cool pattern, too- he sighs and drinks. To that pretty moon, out there. 

        It wasn't often that Sam liked to sit and reminisce. The nostalgia always left him feeling worse off than he'd started. But maybe right now wasn't such a bad time for that, anyway, and in his hands was the power to help him along with accepting it. 

        "Drinking? Really?"

        Sam blinks. He's startled, not for the sake of Rafe's abrupt comment from behind him, but for the uncharacteristically soft tone he's using. "Maybe," he replies, not moving from his seat. It had a nice view of the sliding glass door, letting him see the world outside, instead of towards the rest of the house, and now Rafe.

        Rafe waits patiently, taking a few steps closer to the occupied island and towards the man occupying it. 

        Sam sighs, abandoning the world he'd created in the past...half hour? Hour? He wasn't sure. Rafe is silently observing him, arms crossed, hair mussed. There is light purple dusting under his eyes, and Sam wants to ask if he's been sleeping alright, but he doesn't. He's a little more focused on how his eyes are drawn to the sweatpants hanging low on Rafe's hips and the tank-top delving down just as low to show the top of his chest. "You wear that for bed?" Sam might be teasing, but he might be equally serious.

        "Maybe," Rafe deadpans, in such a way that makes Sam wonder if he's serious, or so sarcastically hinting towards sleeping with even less on.

        Sam averts his eyes. "Did I wake you?"

        "Waking me would imply I slept in the first place," Rafe waves his hands, lacking in any sort of enthusiasm. "I just know when you're drinking my liquor."

        Sam nods. Usually he'd grin, a witty remark on hand. Right now, it just didn't feel right. It wasn't the time. Instead, he offers the bottle to Rafe. "Happens often."

        Rafe hesitates, before shuffling into Sam's vicinity. His fingers wrap around the bottle as he takes it from Sam. He nips from it, tilting it back.        

        Sam's a little surprised about how much Rafe puts down within a five second span, but his life is his own, what could he do?

        When Rafe returns it, Sam sets it to the side. Silence plays out between them for a moment, before Rafe is cautiously approaching Sam, who waits. He's curious as to why Rafe is acting so strange, but the lack of sleep and and slight burn in his veins is pretty successful at coaxing Sam into that pure bliss often referred to as 'not caring'.

        "Why are you even...here?"

        It catches Sam by surprise. Rafe's never really questioned Sam's silent following of him. It felt more like he expected it, really. "I uh, what?" His head feels hazy. The moment feels like a daze, like zoning out and suddenly complete sentences feel daunting and Sam would feel content to just sit in silent company of the man before him.

        Rafe furrows his eyebrows and sighs into his palms as he drags them across his face. He's still moving closer, until his hands are besides Sam's on the cool surface and his torso is between Sam's dangling legs, the draping fabric of Rafe's shirt brushing Sam's knees. "You accepted my offer for work. Even when you could've went back to Nate. Even when I told you I wouldn't let your bring him back, either. And you've...stayed here, for two years. I know you don't feel as if you owe me anything, even after bailing you out. And that's okay. I just don't understand..." Rafe is groaning, his hot breath against Sam's throat  and he smells vaguely of mint and soap. "If you don't owe me anything, then what the hell is keeping you here, Sam?"

        Sam isn't entirely sure. It's mostly the money. But...not all. Sam could have figured out a way to steal a large sum from Rafe and escape to Nate during the night, and god knows he's smart enough to. So why had Sam quietly sat and worked along with Rafe? He was smart enough to figure things out on his own as well, and prior to this whole ordeal, Sam definitely wouldn't have accepted anyone's help but Nate's. Even Sam doesn't know what's keeping Sam here.

        A sigh escapes Rafe, low from his throat and filled with frustration. 

        Sam's eyes snap to Rafe's, but there isn't any time to assess what lies within them before Rafe is grabbing a fistful of Sam's t-shirt. He's yanked down to the other man's height, where Rafe presses harsh lips against Sam's mouth. And it really is rough, filled with tension and tinged with a sort of angry desperation. Rafe didn't understand, and it pissed him off. Sure had a funny way of coping with that, though.

        On instinct, Sam goes rigid. His heart starts up in his chest, rapid, and he's dumbfounded. Not just at the sudden, impulsive act but more at the surprisingly welcome flutter in his chest. And as soon as Sam decides to return the gesture, his hands tentatively reaching out for Rafe's hips to bring him as close as possible, Rafe's mouth loses all of its rough anger and instead melts into something much more delicate. It's a light, yet reckless atmosphere and Sam considers whether or not to continue his path along Rafe on eggshells. He's like a inconsistent, loaded shotgun, and Sam doesn't want to set him off and ruin this. There's still a tinge of desperation between the soft slide of lips and warm exhales, the roaming of light fingertips across each other's skin. They both wanted this, they both needed this because they had both equally suffered the lack of physical touch and it was something they both had been craving for quite some time now.

        Rafe whines against Sam, a wildly unexpected plea for him to take the lead, The light noises from Rafe between kisses prompts an urgency within Sam. Adrenaline is still pumping through his veins, but he's oddly blissful, happy. Sam carefully slips his hands under Rafe's shirt, coercing him to slip out of it. As soon as it's off it's forgotten, thrown off to another planet for all either of them could care.

        Goosebumps simultaneously erupt on the pair's skin, Rafe's from Sam's hands tracing along his chest and down his ribs; Sam's from the delicious shudders Rafe produced. The hairs on Sam's arms are standing on end, his senses mingling between fire and a sweet haze. Sam runs his fingers through the feathery tufts of hair drooping across Rafe's forehead, free from the gel that usually held it firmly in place. Sam grips a fistful of soft hair, tugging and succeeding in opening the other's mouth wider. Sam deepens the kiss, igniting a fiery feeling across Rafe's chest, traveling into his stomach, tingling in his fingertips and down into his toes. He's almost literally putty in Sam's hands, weak to his damn touch but it's terrifyingly good and so, so what he wanted.

        Rafe mutters something against Sam's hot lips, running his tongue along his own puffy ones. He's tugging Sam off the island, and Sam already knows where he wants them to go, and that's to his bedroom.

        Please, Sam, don't quit after I've already given up this much for you.

        Sam concedes to Rafe's insistence, though their hands are still searching as if they'd been deprived of something great the whole way.

        Rafe fumbles for the door, and as it opens, their feet hit carpet. Sam is smiling to himself, mostly because he'd never actually seen Rafe's bedroom. It's immaculate. Unlike Sam's, there are no cigarette butts scattered amid the scribbled-on maps, no tangled bed sheets pooling at the floor. Here, it's all stacked, organized. Somehow, though, Sam still feels like it's a very personal thing for Rafe to let him see. He feels a little like an intruder, but Rafe is begging for Sam to touch him again and it doesn't matter. Gentle hands pull Sam down, and he doesn't resist. Sam straddles Rafe, careful not to rest all of his weight on Rafe. From the looks of it, though, Rafe was more than capable of handling Sam's weight. He may not have been just as strong as Sam, but if they were not on the same side, he'd definitely be formidable. Definitely a challenge, even.

        None of that was even important right now because Rafe was relinquishing all control, handing it all over to Sam and he would gladly take it. 

        Rafe reaches for the dim lamp on his bedside table, almost knocking it down instead of turning it off in his haste. Sam smiles against his jaw, ignoring the stubble growing there.

        Too-bitten nails are being dragged across Sam's skin, and he reaches back for his collar to pull his shirt up and off of himself so he can feel them better. It's a little nerve wracking, but Rafe's lips still welcome him in, and his hands still run up his thigh and pluck at the band of fabric around Rafe's waist.

        It was all or nothing now, and Rafe was only waiting for Sam to take the leap too. His chest could be felt thumping against Rafe's, too, and he lets the younger man suck at his collarbone and fumble with his pants as he starts to lose his himself, lose his thoughts in this hungry blur.

        Everything is swirling between tortuously slow and almost frighteningly rapid. Their minds are nothing but a buzz, empty static but in the moment, them together feels like something familiar and stable and something that should've happened far sooner. A leg is hitched around his hips and lips brush nearly every space of flesh they can reach, sending jolts throughout each other's spines.

     For what seems like forever, the pair are nothing but two blooming hearts together, moving in sync with the thuds in their chests. Regrets gone in the wispy wind singing outside, worries tossed away like the empty bottle in the trash. Nothing mattered to either of them but each other, and Sam had never fallen in love faster. Perhaps it had always been there, lying dormant, and there wasn't possibly a better way to bring it to the surface with such force as this. Too soon, it's over, a rush Sam is scrambling to commit to memory. There's an ache in his heart at the thought of forgetting, even just a single detail. Almost nothing had mattered this much to him- almost. And there's nothing left except Rafe's chapped lips brushing his collarbone as the two stay latched onto each other as if they'd die if they separated; as if they were the only things holding their insides, well, in. Sam's heart sure did feel as if it would leap through any obstacles to get to Rafe, even shattering his sternum in the process. 

        Rafe mumbles something against Sam's throat. 

        "Hm?"

        He sighs, nuzzling in deeper. Their legs are tangled and the bed in the center of the room had come to stand out against the rest of the room as the only messy thing residing there. It would've been creepy in any other circumstance.

         "I need you."

        It may have had the best intentions, but it was like a punch in the gut to Sam. Not once had he stopped to think of whether this was right or wrong. He got something, he liked it, and he wanted more so he took it and it left him feeling like an insensitive prick. There were so many feelings he felt building and lingering over the span of time he'd spent rarely out of the company of this man and now they were erupting and Sam had definitely not even once considered the fucking consequences of this, no, not when there was such an unstable man involved. In a split second, Rafe could go from the sweet person nuzzled into him currently to the person he'd seen snap and kill right in front of him. Though he'd usually kept that side hidden under the guise of a calm, calculating personality, it had never failed to make Sam sick when he witnessed someone in Rafe's way. But now, all bets were off, and Sam already felt the undeniable need to just keep  Rafe. He was lying there, vulnerable in Sam's arms, undeniably his and dear lord did Sam need that to survive. Rafe clung to him with heavy lids, drooping as Sam's petting lulled him to sleep. His ribs poked slightly against his skin with every inhale and it gave Sam a funny feeling in his gut, as if he had to check that Rafe was okay.

        And if Sam already felt such an intense need to be with him...

        What had he done?

        He had made a promise. A promise to his little brother, and he couldn't just go back on that. Nate was the only family he had left. He was not about to just abandon that. He couldn't. Sam already felt bad- but Rafe had been necessary! He never meant to fall...but he did. 

        Fuck, fuck, fuck.

        Sam could not bear that weight on his shoulders. 

        He already felt his stomach twisting, writhing in disgust with himself, yet at the same time he couldn't regret what had just happened. It was something he hadn't known he'd needed so badly for so long. It was an undeniable pull, something intoxicating, addicting, like drugs. Sam wouldn't take that back for the world. What he did regret was what he was going to have to force himself to do. Sam regretted this with all of his life and he almost thought it wasn't worth it. Was it, really?

        Rafe was no longer necessary. And if Sam stayed tonight, he knew he'd never leave.

        Sam's eyes burn at the thoughts, and he feels his heart ice over and detach itself. It makes him sick to the stomach, god, it is physically painful. He's removed from his body and it's no longer his own. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel positively shitty though, either. Never before had Sam experienced the excruciating burn in his guts that he did now as he pulled himself away from his Rafe, skin still damp with sweat. 

You’d think a thief would know how to deal with guilt.

     Sam drinks in his last few looks of Rafe like he's dying from thirst and that beautiful man on the bed is an oasis in the desert. A lifeline Sam was about to sever. Violently. Rafe has never looked so peaceful in his life, and despite the hollowness of his cheeks, his arms were still sinewy and lean, made from the astounding amount of people fought (usually to death) and the field work he accompanied Sam on. He was so enthralling, even with his hair sticking up and about as it was. It amazed Sam that the same hands that ended lives without hesitation could be so soft, so gentle when it involved running them through Sam's hair, letting them dance across his ribs and clutch at his hips.

     Sam breaks away with a lump rising high in his throat. He hesitates, before stumbling towards Rafe's desk and scrambling for a pen. He's blinking rapidly as he sets the note down on the stupid,  expensive desk.

     It's utterly simple and there isn't a doubt in the world that it will raze the poor man's life.

     'I need you, too.'

     Sam feels his breaking point steering dangerously close. He gathers his stuff and is out within the hour.

     Never before has Rafe found himself in tears when he's woken up alone. Then again, Sam has never sobbed on a plane before, either. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I was really tired.  
> Forgive any errors.


End file.
